My heart gets broken every day — a poem
Even the best caretaker cannot arrest the thief called Alzheimer’s
my heart gets broken every day
today was no different than the others
it just cut into me sharply like a knife
instead of gradually eroding me all day long.
my heart sliced open with a sharp blade instead of
being ground away slowly
like skin against pavement
when she woke she held out
her empty cup and just said “coffee”
then she said “i might need to poopy”
adorable words from your three-year old
heartbreaking from your 69 year-old partner
who is slowly dying of Alzheimer’s
the one who was executive director of the literacy council
and is now unable to spell her own five-letter name
knowing that’s probably the most intelligent thing
she will be able to say all day
knowing she is still in there trying to process all of this
trying to make sense
but without words to speak
her truth
her knowing
knowing that she is even now your
only close companion
my heart breaks open once again
but the coffee must be made
and the cats are yowling for their breakfast
now she is waiting for hers as well
that routine at least makes sense
there is still some meaning there
this sudden emotional collapse must be my punishment
for having a mostly good night of sleep
i suppose
but no it’s like this every day
trying to be happy joyous and free and yet
awaiting the end
i will take a gratitude fix after chores are done
and everyone is settled in
i’ll find positive aspects
i get to do this today
it’s my payment plan to become a member
of the Hot Young Widow’s Club
they’re letting me in early (thank you Nora)
even though i’m not hot
not young
not yet a widow
but i will be
you see i slept late this morning
and now i’m behind schedule
the cat is first to let me know
with a cat’s precise timekeeping
this routine i follow every day is there
not only so she knows what to expect
to have something in her world
that makes sense
but to protect my heart
to some degree
against the ravages of her disease
which i alone witness
each and every day
this routine gives me a (very) thin veneer of normalcy
in a world slowly crumbling around us both
a future that will not be
she doesn’t know
she doesn’t know the inevitable outcome awaiting
awaiting
like the blameless vestal she is free from knowing
her own loss
her own coming demise
it’s not as it is with you and i
once the memory is gone
it’s gone
it’s not like losing your car keys which you
search for relentlessly
until found
for her it simply never was
i have been told the end is coming
that it will only get worse
never better
but i don’t know
knowing comes gradually
one day at a time
one lost memory at a time
one irrevocable alteration of our intended future
together
so not what we planned
it’s like road rash on my heart daily
but some days
it cuts sharp and deep
some days there is nothing to do but bleed
and make the coffee
KEYWORDS: Caregiving, Alzheimer’s, Grief, Death and Dying, Dementia
